


The dubious accounting of one A. Z. Fell & Company, sole proprietorship

by doomed_spectacles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accounting, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Ficlet, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 23:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: Aziraphale's trusty computer encounters a problem. While fixing it, Crowley spies on the accounting of one angelic small businessman's finances.





	The dubious accounting of one A. Z. Fell & Company, sole proprietorship

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly idea that came to me one day. I wrote it down. Enjoy.

The message on his answering machine somehow sounded both cheery and completely distraught.

"Hello Crowley! It's me. Aziraphale, that is. I was wondering, if you'd be so ... well, that is, if could come by the shop and have a look at the old computing machine. I'm afraid it's caught a bit of a bug. Thank you ever so much."

* * *

Crowley strode through the doors of the bookshop casually. He snapped his fingers. The door locked itself and the sign in the window flipped to closed. 

"Right, angel, what seems to be the trouble, then?" 

"Oh Crowley, thank goodness you're here!" Aziraphale appeared, looking pleased and flustered. "The computer I purchased some years ago is on the fritz. I simply don't know what's gotten into it and I need to make sure to process my accounts. I've never been late or off by one single penny and I don't intend to start now!"

They made their way to the backroom. Crowley sat down at the computer desk and frowned. 

"How old is this machine, angel?"

"Oh only a few decades, I believe," Aziraphale replied. He settled in a chair at the table across from Crowley. He poured himself a cup of tea from the kettle on it and opened a biscuit tin.

Crowley rolled his eyes. He bent down to peer behind the dusty monitor. No wires or cables protruded from the back and nothing plugged in to the wall behind the machine. "I think these things need power, Aziraphale."

"Oh do they?" Aziraphale didn't seem at all concerned.

Crowley snapped his fingers and the computer was suddenly covered in ports of all different kinds, none of which would actually have been necessary for a decades-old personal computer. "There! Fixed."

Aziraphale beamed as the computer booted up and the logo of Quicken 3 for Windows appeared. "Oh thank you my dear, I just knew you'd be able to fix it. You're always going on about technology and while I do enjoy doing my accounts and the occasional round of solitaire, I can't say I've kept up."

"I'll say." Crowley looked at the screen as Aziraphale's accounting files loaded. He pressed the keyboard, scrolling through lines of figures. "Angel, there are _thousands_ of accounts here! They go back as far as ... _accounting_. The _concept_."

Aziraphale sipped his tea.

"Yes, well I assume you have accounts of your own. Demonic payments for services rendered and bribes to dirty politicians and the like," he said.

Crowley sat back, balancing precariously on the ancient chair. "You've got me there. But mine are rather more_ off the books_." He glanced back at the screen. "And not _nearly_ so generous."

Aziraphale clapped his hands, pleased. "Well there, you see? The books are balanced, as they say. My gifts to my patrons balance out whatever nefarious embezzlements your lot cooked up." He nibbled on a biscuit, seeming thoroughly pleased with himself, his demonically repaired computer, and the afternoon in general.

Crowley scrolled through the lines on the screen.

"Some of these have notes. Angel, if you're trying to be surreptitious, you can't send love notes."

"God's love isn't surreptitious, Crowley."

The look Crowley responded with would best be described as _withering_. Aziraphale cleared his throat. 

"Even when funneled through the accounts of a London-based sole trader antiquarian bookshop."

"Mmmhmmm."

Crowley scrolled, drumming his fingers on the old wooden table he'd somehow folded his legs under. He stopped and snorted, turning to Aziraphale.

"1891 Mme Sklodowska, Let not detractors nor circumstance stay your resolve, lo the science you seek shall benefit all mankind."

Aziraphale smiled.

"Aziraphale, did you give Marie Curie a bunch of money and tell her, essentially, that _haters gonna hate_?" If he'd still been wearing sunglasses, his eyebrows would have been far above the rims.

Aziraphale frowned and his voice raised as he answered. "She was new to Paris and having a difficult go of it!" Worry lines creased the angel's forehead. "Really, it was the _least_ I could do for such a bright young lass. And she returned the money, anyway- should be noted a few lines down." 

Crowley stared at him, speechless. 

"Really, I do thank you for fixing the machine, my dear. I've a nice bottle in the back, if you'd fancy something stronger than tea." He didn't wait for a response and instead got up to retrieve the bottle, humming to himself under his breath.

"You never cease to amaze me, angel," Crowley muttered quietly.

With his back turned, Aziraphale smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also [doomed-spectacles](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/doomed-spectacles) on Tumblr. Say hi if you like.


End file.
